“But the hospital has been closed for years!”“It’s open now,” the Vicar replied, “and has been for some months.”As Lizzy spun around angrily, the priest smiled, taking his car keys from a pocket below his cassock.Lizzy jumped back into her car and drove down the hill, through the chocolate box village of her childhood, and past the old cement works. There were wisps of smoke coming from some of the old kilns, she noticed. The cement dust on the road was thicker than she remembered; they must have restarted the works that “Daddy” once owned, she thought.She sobbed at the single recollection that was brought to mind, the one that wrecked everything for her.“Adopted?!” she had screamed three years earlier. That’s what “Daddy’s” last will and testament had said clearly, drily emphatic in its declaration. The solicitor had read out the words, “my adopted daughter, Elizabeth”, in that deadpan voice that lawyers have universally developed.Lizzy couldn’t believe what she had heard. It sank in. In addition to Kelly and me, both sets of our parents were there, three of my grandparents (Nana was in a home by that point), and Jack, Teresa, and Bobbie Joe. Even Aunt Laurie and Uncle Dave were there. The whole thing was a big fucking deal, and everybody needed to be on the same page.Then it got stranger, as if it hadn’t already moved into the bizarre territory. As we sat there in the living room, Lieutenant Colonel Fong’s cell phone rang. He put it to his ear and spoke quietly, and then motioned for everyone to be quiet. We all stared but quieted down. He put the phone on speaker and said, “We’re on speaker.”“Thank you. The President will be with you in just a moment. Please hold.”I stared at Fong, and then turned towards my wife. She looked as astonished as I did. They couldn’t possibly mean... “Sergeant Reaper, are you there? This is Barack Obama.”Fong was smiling at us, and he motioned for me to speak. I just kept staring, and President Obama repeated, “Sergeant Reaper? Are.
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